


standing here, unafraid, in the lions' den

by teacupfulofbrains



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Altean Lance (Voltron), Altean Lance au, Alternate Universe - Altean Lance, Gen, Season 5 Spoilers, basically lance has the mark of the chosen, gratuitous overuse of synonyms for glow, obviously, rewrite of season 5 ep 6, seriously i think i used every single on at least once, so he also goes to oriande
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 17:40:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13932024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacupfulofbrains/pseuds/teacupfulofbrains
Summary: Lance knows that Team Voltron does not belong in the white hole.Lance also knows that, for some reason, he does belong in the white hole.(OR: a rewrite of season 5, episode 6, featuring Altean, Mark-of-the-Chosen Lance McClain)





	standing here, unafraid, in the lions' den

**Author's Note:**

> this is for my wonderful sunflower of a beta who would probably sell her soul for altean!lance to be a reality (and honestly if they gave us galra keith they can give us altean lance)  
> I DID MY BEST I HOPE YOU ENJOY

When they reach the Patrulian Zone, Lance is instinctively wary. It’s a strange feeling – when Lotor proposes that Voltron enter the white hole, Lance knows that it’s the wrong course of action. He knows that a huge mistake is about to be made, knows that they’re heading towards certain doom, knows that if they cross the threshold of the white hole all is lost, but he has no idea how he knows. He almost voices his concerns, but as he opens his mouth Shiro’s voice sirens in his head. _I thought I told you to stay out of this!_

Lance bites down on his lower lip to keep himself from talking. He doesn’t taste iron, didn’t bite hard enough to draw blood (not that it’d be the first time), but it still hurts like hell. He might think they’re all heading towards certain death, but he’s not the leader of Voltron, as everyone is oh-so-keen on reminding him. He might as well keep his useless mouth shut – no sense distracting the rest of the team. If they’re going to do this, he has to let them stay focused.

Then the white lion appears, and Lance _burns_. It looks regal and majestic and utterly terrifying, and it reminds Lance of seeing the Blue Lion for the first time. The eyes stare straight through his thoughts, searing their mark into his soul. There’s a hook digging into his chest now, with a rope stretched taut between him and the lion, and Lance lurches forward in his seat (in truth, he almost catapults himself through the windshield). The lion opens its mouth, and Lance knows that’s where he’s supposed to be, knows that’s where he’s supposed to go, know that’s where he _belongs_ – 

And then the laser explodes towards Voltron. It nails them square in the chest, all of the lions shaking like a Richter 8.0. Lance tears his gaze away from the white lion and focuses on Red’s controls, glitching in and out with the impact. He needs to get his head out of the clouds; he doesn’t belong in some crazy white lion out in the middle of nowhere. He belongs here, in this lion, with team Voltron ( _not even_ , a little voice whispers in the back of his head, _you belong back on Earth, what could a screw-up like you ever hope to contribute to the defenders of the universe?_ ). The lion opens its mouth to fire again, and Voltron barrel-rolls out of the way. 

Lotor’s voice echoes across the comm link, calling them out of the white hole, telling them he made a mistake. ( _Mistake_ , Lance wonders idly, _or deliberate sabotage?_ ) Shiro gives the order, Allura and Hunk push their lions into full throttle, and they speed away from the white lion. Suddenly, there’s a physical pain slicing into Lance’s chest. He gasps out loud, one hand flying off the controls as he clutches at his armor. His breathing is labored and heavy, as though he’s been running for hours; Lance is choking on air and his cheeks are on _fire_.

The final blast hits Voltron in the back, scattering the lions before slamming into the castle. Lance feels a shock like a bolt of lightning through his entire body, his blood boiling away into nothing. He’s afraid to open his eyes, because if he does, he might dissolve into stardust, pure cosmic energy scattering to every corner of the universe. Faintly, he can hear the other paladins shouting about losing power in their lions, can hear Coran worrying about losing power to the ship.

He shakes his head to clear the clouds, bringing himself safely back to reality. He presses his hand against Red’s darkened control panel, feeling for the familiar fiery consciousness, but Red isn’t there. There’s a dark, cold, empty space in his mind where Red should be, and that worries Lance deeply. “Use your jetpacks and meet us at the castle!” Allura calls. Lance presses his hand against Red once more before sliding out of the cockpit. The other lions drift aimlessly around him, more lifeless corpses in the Patrulian graveyard, and Lance averts his eyes. 

“It’s called the Mark of the Chosen,” Lotor says, and there are Altean markings glowing beneath his eyes – when did those get there? They’re different than Princess Allura’s, a little more lightning-shaped, but there’s no mistaking what they are. “I am sorry to put us in this position, but I think I know the answer. Look at Princess Allura.” She pulls off her helmet, and her Altean marks shimmer brightly. “Look at Lance, for that matter.”

Everyone turns to look at him, and the burning sensation only intensifies. “What – why are you all staring at me?” He laughs awkwardly, tries to play it off, but the entire team is staring at him in open-mouthed, wide-eyed confusion. Pidge pushes her glasses closer to her eyes, even though he knows she doesn’t really need them, as though she’s struggling to see – or struggling to believe what she sees. Hunk presses a hand to his mouth, color drained from his face. Allura looks like she’s about to cry, and Coran looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“Your face,” Pidge manages, finally, and Lance catches the barest hint of a tremor in her voice. “What the hell is happening to your face?”

Lance lifts his helmet, mildly offended, trying to view his reflection in the visor. Two bright blue spots catch him off-guard, and he thinks it’s just the weird way light is reflecting off his eyes. Soon, it becomes clear that is not the case. A lustrous, boomerang-shaped blue mark has appeared beneath each eye, and they are radiant like stars.

Lotor keeps talking, saying something about worthy Alteans and a place called Oriande, but Lance is no longer listening. He presses two fingers against one of the marks, expecting them to come away coated in phosphorescent paint, but they’re clean. He remembers the way his face burned before, the way it felt like the lion was calling him. It makes more sense in context, but the context doesn’t make sense. “It appears that the three of us will be –” 

“Hold up,” Lance cuts in. “What does this mean? For me, what does this mean for me? I’m not – I don’t – I never had these before today! What the _hell_ does this mean?”

“You think these are normal for me?” Lotor bites back. “They have never appeared before today, and you want to know what they _mean?_ I will tell you, paladin. What they _mean_ is that rare Altean blood runs through your veins. What they _mean_ is that you may enter Oriande and gain a chance to learn the ancient secrets of Altean alchemy. What they _mean_ is that you are one of a chosen, magical few.” 

Pidge and Hunk stare at him as though they’ve never seen him before, and Shiro watches him warily from Coran’s side, and Allura walks towards him with the slightest of shakes in her steps. She extends a hand, slowly, cautiously, and asks, “May I touch them?” with her hand an inch from his cheekbone. She seems hesitant, almost _afraid_ , nothing like the brave, funny princess he’s come to know and respect. 

“Of-of course, Princess.” Her touch is light, like feathers, fingertips skimming over the markings. Her other hand presses against her own face, tracing both sets simultaneously. Lance’s face heats up again – he’s as red as his lion right now, he knows he is – and Allura moves her hand to follow the rounded edge of his ear.

“Your ears really are hideous, you know,” she giggles, and then she throws her arms around his neck. A strange wetness soaks into his shoulder, and he realizes she’s crying. Lance is too stunned to respond for a moment, but he quickly wraps his arms around the Princess and hugs her tightly.

“My ears are beautiful just the way they are. They heard exactly what you said about them.” It’s different from the first time they met; the venom in their voices is gone, replaced with gentle teasing and playfulness. Lance knows better than to flirt with Allura – it would be like flirting with Veronica. 

“You must understand, Lance, Coran and I thought we were the last Alteans alive. For so long, I believed that my people were completely eradicated. I must say, I’ve never been so happy to be proved wrong in my life.” 

“Princess?”

“You remind me so much of my father. You carry his sword into battle, you pilot the lion he once flew, and now I learn that Altean blood sings in your veins as it does in mine. This is proof that at least one other Altean survived the massacre.” She shakes in his arms, and Lance gently rubs her back between her shoulder blades, just the way Marco used to do for him. “It is proof that somewhere in the vast expanse of this universe, a scrap of Altea survives.” 

“I’m here, Allura,” Lance says. “I might not know what the fu – what the _quiznak_ is happening, or how it is that I have these marks, but I know how much Altea means to you. I’ll do my best to be here for you, I promise.” Allura pulls back, meets his eyes, and smiles. She cups his cheek and smooths one thumb over the Mark of the Chosen. 

“Thank you, Lance. I appreciate it, I truly do.”

Lotor clears his throat obnoxiously. “Princess, I understand the shock and the substance of all this. You’ve found another Altean, after believing for so long that you and Coran were the only ones still alive. My sincerest congratulations to you both.” Allura turns in his arms, wiping away tears. 

“Thank you, Lotor. I appreciate it.”

“It appears that Lance will, in fact, be accompanying us. The three of us must re-enter the white hole and seek out Oriande for ourselves.”

“Princess, this is a suicide mission!” Coran interrupts, desperation coloring his words. “You can’t seriously be considering going back in there! Lotor thought Voltron would be safe, and now we’ve completely lost power! The three of you, by yourselves? You don’t stand a snowball’s chance in Mostik!” 

“I have no choice,” Allura says, and there are still tear tracks on her face but she’s the princess now, voice firm and royal and offering no room for argument. “There’s not enough air in the castle for all of us to survive, and we have no power to call for help or to leave this place. I must go, for my sake and our sake and the sake of the universe.” Coran still looks like he wants to argue, but Lance steps between him and Allura. 

“Listen, Coran, I’m exactly as thrilled about this idea as you are. But there’s something –” One hand grips his chest, clenching into a fist. “There’s something calling to me. I imagine it’s the same for Allura. It’s like someone fired a grappling hook into my chest and they just pressed the retract button. Something is pulling me towards that white hole. I felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest when we left – I have to go back.”

“We can take the personal transport crafts,” Allura says. “They have independent power sources. Hunk, Pidge, do your best to attempt to restore power to the castle while we are gone. Lance, Lotor, come with me. It will be best if we do not delay.”

Lance stares into the reflective surface of his visor again. The Mark of the Chosen is iridescent on his cheekbones, the only indicator that he isn’t as human as he appears to be. He averts his eyes, pulls his helmet on, and casts one last glance at a shell-shocked Hunk before hurrying after Allura and Lotor.

They approach the white lion again, a small fleet of three much less menacing than Voltron, and it opens its mouth in another silent roar. This time, Lance does not close his eyes and fear the death laser. Instead, he opens his eyes ever wider and fires his craft straight into the lion’s maw. For a moment, everything is dazzlingly, brilliantly white, and he has to close his eyes tightly to avoid being blinded. He can hear Allura’s frantic, ragged breathing on his left and Lotor’s deep, steady exhales on his right, and he’s comforted to know he’s not alone. 

Allura gasps in wonder, and Lance’s eyes go flying open. The world around him is saturated in deep, rich blues and pinks, blurring together softly around the edges like the sunset over the water back home. There are mountains everywhere, suspended in midair, and there’s a town carved into one. Plants drape down from nowhere, like a hanging garden, and the entire thing looks like a watercolor illustration in a picture book. They moor the personal transport crafts at the base of a mountain, the suspended city looming above them.

“My centuries of study can only take us this far,” Lotor says, tipping his head back to stare at the sheer vertical surface of the cliff face. “From here on out, we are on our own.”

Lance closes his eyes, reaching for the tugging feeling in his chest. Somehow, he knows it will guide them exactly where they need to be. He doesn’t have to reach too far to feel the pull, which burns bright in him like a homing beacon; it takes minimal concentration to figure out the correct course. 

“Up this mountain,” he says, and he’s surprised by the decisiveness in his tone. “That’s where we have to go. Whatever we came here to find, it’s up that mountain.”

“How do you know?” Lotor asks, but he doesn’t sound suspicious. If Lance didn’t know better, he’d think that Lotor was genuinely curious. He wants to believe that it’s true, but he prefers to err on the side of caution – better safe than sorry, as his mother says. He pushes his conflict to the bottom of his stomach and answers Lotor’s question. 

“There was this weird pull in my chest when Voltron first approached the white hole, y’know? And it’s still there, so I’m just following it. It’s kind of like a compass, but instead of pointing north it points us where we need to be.” Lance almost says it points them home. “It looks like there’s nowhere left to go but up! Man, where’s Pidge’s bayard when you need it, am I right?” To his credit, at least Allura laughs. 

Allura wonders about her father as they climb the cliff, asking if he climbed this self-same mountain. Lotor opens up about his own father, talking about the first planet he was sent to rule, his helplessness while Zarkon destroyed it, his longing to uncover more of his Altean heritage. Lance has never conquered a planet, but he knows the feeling of wondering where you came from all too well. He remembers clinging to his mother’s skirt, begging her to tell him about his father, about his father’s heritage, about his father’s culture. He still remembers the sad, kind smile as she swept him into her arms, balancing him on her hip one-armed while she cooked dinner. 

 _Mijo, the only thing you need to know about your father is that he left us. He didn’t want to be in our lives, and that’s fine. If he doesn’t want think about us, we certainly don’t need to indulge in thoughts about him._  

When the temple comes into view, Lance is again reminded of home. This time, it’s a picture book his sister Veronica used to spend hours poring over. She would let him sit on her lap and trace the outline of the Mayan temples while she recited the long-since-memorized text. He digs his fingers into his palm to keep from crying and follows Allura and Lotor further into the temple. The giant statue corridor reminds him of another of Veronica’s history books – ancient Egypt, this time.

The white lion leads them to the dead-end room, which begins to shrink, and Allura places her hands on the pillars. “Whatever happens next, be careful!” she shouts. Suddenly, Lance is all alone in an endless expanse of sky. He’s surrounded on all sides by clouds, and the ground he’s standing on mirrors the sky to such a perfect extent that he can’t tell where the sky ends and the ground begins. 

“Allura?” he calls. “Princess Allura, where are you?” There’s a strange echo to his voice as he shouts, and he spins around searching for Allura but she’s nowhere to be found. “Lotor! Are you here?” Instead of his teammates, he finds the mysterious white lion again.  

The white lion bares its teeth, stalking towards him predatorily, snarling. When it pounces, Lance forward-rolls beneath it and pops up on the other side, the same evasive maneuver he’s seen Keith use a hundred times in training. The lion has barely landed before it turns, charging towards him again. Lance sidesteps, and he wants to reach for his bayard but the alarm bells blaring in his head swiftly dissuade him. Again, the lion pivots before it even lands, almost as if it’s – 

Lance facepalms even as he dodges. It’s staring him straight in the face

 _It’s not real. It’s a hologram – it’s made of light. It can’t hurt me, even if it hits me, because there’s no substance. So then, why would it do this? What does it have to gain?_

_I just need to save my teammates. Can’t it see that?_

_Maybe it can’t._

The lion makes eye contact with him, snarling. Lance carefully raises his hands, palms outward, in a pacifying gesture. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, voice echoing across the cloud plains. The white lion races towards him, teeth bared, maw open wide. Lance closes his eyes, lowering his hands to his sides. “I don’t know how to prove myself to you. But if this is what it takes to save my teammates, then it’s what I’ll do. I would gladly give my own life to learn how to save theirs. If this is what you need to take from me, then I give it to you freely.” 

The words pour out of him; he has no idea what he’s saying or where the words are coming from, but he knows, somehow, that this is what he’s supposed to say. This is what he’s supposed to do. He hears the lion leap, snarling, and opens his eyes just in time to see a brilliant beam of diamond light pierce through his chest. It sears through him like wildfire, but at the same time, it doesn’t hurt at all. He closes his eyes again, breath hissing through his teeth.

The next time he opens his eyes, he’s surrounded by the vastness of the cosmos. He hovers, surrounded by shimmering star clusters and opalescent galaxies and wispy nebulas, and it’s breathtakingly stunning. His helmet isn’t on, but somehow, he can breathe just fine. It’s as though he doesn’t even need to breathe. 

 _Welcome, starchild,_ says a soft female voice. It’s a voice that Lance has known all his life, even though he has never heard it before today. _Welcome home._

“Home?” Lance asks, mildly relieved that the echo has faded from his voice. “But I’ve never been here before. I didn’t even know I had Altean ancestry before today! How can this be home?”

 _Home is where you belong, where your family is. We are your family, stretching through all of space and time. We accept you for who you are, even though that may yet be a mystery to you._  

“My own _team_ doesn’t accept me,” Lance mutters. “They know me, and I’m just a joke to them. How can you possibly accept me?”

 _Voltron is your family,_ the voice soothes. _They care for you more than you will ever know. You are accepted there._

“It doesn’t feel like it.” Shiro’s voice echoes through the starspace, deafening.

 _I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO STAY OUT OF THIS._  

“They push me aside without listening to me. They don’t think I have anything worthwhile to say. I love them all, so much, and I just – I don’t care that it’s not reciprocated, I just want to keep them safe.” 

 _It is reciprocated – they love you, Lance McClain. They care for you deeply, although you cannot see it. Allow us to show you._ A sudden bolt pierces Lance’s heart, and he gasps out loud with the force of what he feels.

 

He feels Hunk, his best friend since they were three years old. He feels the strong, safe warmth of Hunk’s hugs, sees Hunk’s arm slung around his shoulders, smells the coffee Hunk used to make every morning at the Garrison, hears his bellowing laughter.

He feels Pidge, sharp-tongued and quick-witted. He sees strings of code flashing by as she searches the universe for intel, hears the sharp, electrical buzz of her bayard, feels her weight on his shoulders as they piggy-back race through the castle, smells the ever-present motor oil on her clothes.

He feels Allura, vibrant and beautiful. He hears the squeaks of the mice omnipresent on her shoulders, sees her fluffy white hair streaming out behind her as she runs through the castle, feels her warm and secure in his arms as she hugs him, sees the Mark of the Chosen shine on her face as clearly as it shines on his own.

He feels Shiro, solid and secure. He hears Shiro laugh out, “Now _that’s_ why we bring our sharpshooter!”, sees the warmth in his eyes after a job well done, feels his hand slap between Lance’s shoulder blades, hears his Galran arm whir to life as he defends Lance’s lifeless body from Sendak. 

He feels Keith, brilliant and fierce, bathing his body in scorching fire. He sees Keith’s adorably confused face as he tries to comprehend the Voltron team chant, feels Keith cradle him tenderly in his arms as he rushes to a healing pod, sees Keith’s gentle smile as he reminds Lance to _leave the math to Pidge_ , hears the song of metal against metal as Keith slices through the control panel and follows Lance through the Balmera. 

Slowly, the intensity fades away, but the feelings remain. Lance is reeling from the pure, unadulterated love in his teammates’ hearts, now sitting in his own. The warmth spreads through his entire body like wildfire. _Tell us, starchild, why you have come seeking our aid. Tell us what you wish to know._

“I – there are so many things I want to know,” Lance manages, still in shock. “I want to know how I got here, I want to know why I have Altean markings, I – I want to know why I’m here. I want to know how to save the people I love. They’re in grave danger, and I – I’ll give you anything you want, I’ll die if that’s what it takes. I just need to save them.” Even free-floating in space, he tries to bow as best he can, because this is a powerful, primordial force that should be respected.

 _Oh, Lance,_ the voice hums. _You are among family here. There is no need to bow. The secrets you seek to save your loved ones reside within you already. Come, starchild. Let us embrace you._

A warm glow envelops Lance, and suddenly there are thousands of images flooding his mind at once. Ordinarily, it would be overwhelming, but here it feels as natural as his normal flow of thoughts. Suddenly, he knows what he has to do – he knows what the biggest threat to his team is, and he knows how to handle it. “Thank you,” he says. “Thank you, so much. I can never repay you for your help.”

 _There is no need to repay us. We have not given you anything new, Lance McClain. We have simply opened your eyes to what slumbered in your soul. Use this knowledge well. Defend the universe. Defend the ones you love. We are with you, always._  

Everything dissolves into brilliant white again, and when the phosphenes fade, he’s standing in front of the temple of Oriande with Allura at his side and Lotor in front of them. “Did you see that?” he says, his voice a reverent whisper. He feels that if he speaks any louder, the entire world will evaporate.

“Yes, I did,” Allura says. “It was truly magical.” Her Altean marks no longer glow, and Lotor’s have disappeared entirely, but when Lance catches a glimpse of his reflection he still has blue boomerangs beneath his eyes. 

“Sadly, I did not,” Lotor says, and his face is expressionless but his voice is resigned and sad. “It appears that Oriande was not for me.”

“We have to get back to the ship,” Lance says. “Princess, I take it you know how to salvage the castle ship?” She nods, mouth pressed into a firm line. “Good Because there’s a massive threat waiting for us back there, and I know how to deal with it.” Lotor opens his mouth, but Lance cuts him off. “It’s not you – I’m still not sure if I completely trust you or not, but there’s a more pressing problem at hand.”

When they make it back to the ship, Allura beelines for the teludav controls. Lance walks straight up to Shiro and looks him in the eyes. Shiro doesn’t shy away from him, staring straight back, and Lance smiles. “Hello, Haggar. I’d appreciate it if you stopped using your little puppet to spy on us.” 

“Lance, what are you talking about?” Hunk laughs, nervously. “That’s Shiro you’re talking to, remember?”

“I don’t think so,” Lance says, and he can feel the Mark of the Chosen begin to glow again. He lifts his hand and traces a shape on Shiro’s forehead, glowing blue lines, and then Shiro screams. It doesn’t sound like Shiro at all – it’s more like a banshee. Hunk slams his hands over his ears, and it hurts Lance too but he’s focused on Shiro-not-Shiro in front of him, bathed in blue light. 

When Shiro-not-Shiro opens his eyes again, they’re solid yellow. “That should take care of the witch. Hello there, Kuron.” 

Kuron looks at him with eyes that no longer allow Haggar any information. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “I tried to fill his shoes, but I couldn’t. I did my best, even though I knew she was listening to everything we said and did. I am so sorry.”

“It isn’t your fault,” Lance says. “You didn’t ask for this. But we’re going to need everyone’s help – yours included – if we want to save Shiro and defeat Haggar once and for all. Are you with us?”

Kuron’s face is serious and stern. “I am. I will do whatever it takes to make sure that we succeed.” Lance smiles, claps a hand onto Kuron’s shoulder, and turns to face the rest of team Voltron. 

“Listen up, everybody. We’ve got some serious work to do.”

**Author's Note:**

> come scream at me on tumblr! //[@teacupfulofstarshine](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/teacupfulofstarshine)  
> i'm also on discord! // @teacupfulofbrains#8213


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